Best Tuberose Poems
Island Spirit
Palm trees are swaying island style
Within the gentle trade wind's flow,
As Egrets glide on salty air—
Then land where verdant grasses grow.
Breathe in sweet scents of tuberose
And let fine mist caress your face,
Dive deep into aqua waters—
Become enchanted with this place.
Let your eyes consume the beauty,
Let rhythmic music soothe your mind.
You'll feel the aloha spirit—
A kinder people you won't find.
Go hiking in hillside forests,
There are no bears or snakes that hide,
Just waterfalls you'll find waiting,
That flow toward the ocean side.
In the distance whales are breaching,
Humpbacks with little calves in tow.
They share waters with the dolphins,
And green sea turtles down below.
Can you hear paradise calling?
Whispering your name at sunrise,
To later bask on pearly sands.
Swaying hula hips at moonrise,
Coaxing you to join in the dance.
Exotic Mai Tai in your hands,
Sweet flower leis caress your neck,
Come investigate our islands,
And board on wild waves at surfside,
Cast your cold and cares to the breeze.
Sailing out on sunset cruises—
Take homeward bound warm memories.
6/20/20
Poem of the Day at Poetry Soup January 17, 2015
Dawn slowly awakened to supplant the moon
Empty, the canopy where stars had been strewn
In repose, Luna slept after wandering velvet skies
and spider webs shimmered in the flight of sunrise
Dew drops evaporated upon the fragrant tuberose
as a playful breeze billowed my sheer nightclothes
Seagulls swooped and scurried along amber shores
A salty crew grappled with the sea on labored oars
Muscles pulled in rhythmic chorus, as if in lyrical rote
as surging waves rocked the hull of their fishing boat
They surpassed each crest and triumphed over swells
The sun's prisms painted the horizon in muted pastels
Inspired by the milieu of ruffled swirls across the sea
sunlight dappled over its surface in sequenced litany
I sipped a second cup as thoughts were being seeded
Poetry spawned inside of me; a birthing to be heeded
For as driftwood hastens down rapids to a new frontier
I needed to ledger my verses, ere they hie to disappear
August 13, 2022
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 12 Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
Looked at the outside of steel window
Around in the dark, awesome feelings into the mid-night air
What the news was brought in the feelings!
Eyes of the orphan cat was flaming on the corridor.
Waiting for the light in the window
Dark vision comes down into my eyes by cycle-weariness
Down from one circle to another circle in time-blindness
Who stands here, the Islamic old man!
Frustrated vision!
History of terrorism was carved on his burnt body
He wants to say something!
A white-complexioned Christian young man stands into the neighbor circle,
Surprised eyes!
White-skinned history was printed on his blood-stained body
He wants to know something!
A dark-colored Hindu boy stands into the third circle,
Illusive vision!
History of third world is awakened on his envenomed body
He wants a little smile!
The old man, young man and boy are coming forward from the circles
Great distance... Near ...in front the room...
Who are you? No reply
They disappear into the tuberose equipped black and white photo of my father
Dad is smiling, I am senseless!
Tears are dropping from the eyes of our cat on the corridor.
Sunlight or Moonlight - Moonlight on Meadows chosen title 8-21-24
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Moonlight on Meadows
Moonlight lays with meadows
Splashing auroras of platinum mist
On midnight
As lupine enters Luna’s corona
Dressed in veils of silver blue.
Light’s fingertips spread wide
Taking in the silk caress –
Hypnotic lavender and clover.
The silent silver flute song
Parts tangled nests of moonlit shadows
Sinking deeply into the crucible of light
While florid breaths of tuberose,
Leave an argent kiss
In moon pearls of satin dews.
Garlands of scented leaves
Undulate in polar wax and wane
Swaying
Holding close arching moonbows of sterling.
In full splendor of lunar madness
Sweet midnight ambrosias explode
To dust the moonlight and meadows
With crystal bits of silver glitz.
I thought poetry is
-name of Mesopotamia which was the first civilization to emerge in human history
-ancient cave peoples surviving life struggle
I thought poetry is
-an immortal love story of Yousuf- Zulekha, Shirin-Farhad, Laila-Majnu or Romeo-Juliet
-a telephonic or open love conversation of smiling postmodern girls
-drying wet colorful clothes of beloved in the courtyard of the house
-haring of beloved with tuberose garland before a mirror
I thought poetry is
-lizards chirping from the deserted house; cockroach flying
-quarrelsome cats in the black dark or barking dogs
-the struggle of mosquito for human blood
-traveling of the arrogant indecent animals all over the night
I thought poetry is
-thrilling venturous ghostly stories of J. K. Rowling
-self-expression of known-unknown writers
-unspoken tale of a war-wounded soldier
-the regret of the thousands of dead soldiers
-the unwritten fantasy of an isolated poet
-the lonely guitar or ektara of dead singers
I thought poetry is
-without reel tie an independent flying of a kite in the sky
-in the blue sky sovereign flapping of birds
-movement of invisible winds everywhere
-hearing story of fairytale crossing of green forest
I thought poetry is
-handmade airing of newly married girl to a new groom in lunch time
-dyed hands of nubile girls by mehndi,
-captivating sounds of jingling anklet and kamarband of dancing damsels
I thought poetry is
-classic music of Pandit Ravi Shankar
-immortal tune of Ustad Bismillah Khan's shehnai
-compilation of humanitarian lyrics of the legend Bob Marley
-heart touching reciting of the Holy Quran of Qari Abdul Basit
I thought poetry is
-unforgettable philosophical discussion of Socrates with his disciples
-the philosophic lineage of learning such as Socrates-Plato-Aristotle
-immortal scientific creations of Newton, Galileo, Einstein, Nikola Tesla, Hawking
I thought poetry is
-unremitting prayer or worship of any prevailed religion devotee to get heaven
-inhuman history of bombing on the Hiroshima and Nagasaki or brutality of 1st or 2nd World War
These all are just my thinking,
my thinking is free
on my path
but poetry is poetry,
more than any thinking, many more;
on its path
Poetry is independent fully
-June 27, 2019 Chattogram
Lullaby
Moonbow cradle songs
Sing through sheer corona mists
In grace notes of acapella hues
While golden lunar lentos
Of twilight lunar rainbows,
Crowning Luna’s full face,
Arch with andante’s touch
Like a wrinkle in reality
In haunting flutters on the wind song
Drifting into enchantment and out of time.
A tone poem surrendered in a perfumed arbor
Settles chaos conjured in the cosmos
With gentle rhymes of barcarolles
That rock with moonlight’s tremolo touch
A drowsy art song paints the tuberose perfume
To soothe earth, sky and penitent soul
In beauty revealed by moonlit rhapsody
Where lyrics of sleepy harmonies
Doze to the cadence of blazing stars
Wrapped in astral quilts, nodding in serenity.
3-14-23
Contest: L Poems
Sponsor: Constance La France
A "moonbow" is a lunar rainbow created by water droplets and the light of the moon.
Blazing stars are night blooming flowers.
Far away from our little village
In the middle of green paddy field
On the small mound the banyan tree was
Beneath calm and sweet shadow of green leaves
On the lap of this old giant tree
You and I were only there for our twin loving soul
Strangler figs were spreading all around of us
Flock of sparrows and tailor-birds were came to play with figs
Through the chirping and far loving speech of flute
My head was on your lovely lap
You cared my black silky hair by your soft finger
You drew fingers line on my face
Your lips penned best graph on my lips
My nose smelled fragrance of jasmine, tuberose, gardenia from you
And now
In this house you and I are alone
Balcony touches the green leaves of coconut tree
No parrots, no nightingales, no sparrows are around of us
Cacophonies of crows make us tired
My bald head is on your lovely lap
Now your old loving fingers care my white beard
Although no hair of juvenescent
The head and shrunk face still get your love
Kiss comes with tears of old age
As if we live as cast away dove
-October 22, 2018 Chattogram
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written on the sense of my old grandparents
If lovers of lovers had a story self-reflect would look upon a river and share old wise tells
Would it perhaps be nacrracsitic or shallow
Or knee deep to jump in
Idealism or fantasy I say turn the page
If my child was that of divine whisper among the Hampton of the Heaven’s
Thrones and berries that of the fine wine should one bless among each bread basket
Yet to say to learn of perfection that of affections attain by the vision to learn of
Another language of communication would be Inferior to not that of a touch that of
Apparatus as a kiss of hand of risk morning good bed
Sleep of a morning covers the way that it wraps around her body would be a gift
Send from heaven
What wakes turn morning into not such a another day
but a beautiful bluish day I said her love
Sight and mind give me a vision would be perhaps be common sense
If gentlemen attire is to catered to her love passion assure the passage of the storm
Apure and tell me how deep is one love
If continuum was a option would one value the option perhaps would one said
Eternal fatefully gracefully awakes or would old wise tell of such
Passion that awakes
How rare is Tuberose and Delphinium growing together
What beautiful texture and sense it make love among stars
Perhaps Apuleius could sing a carol tell if cupid arrow ever MISS the attire
Those that ask are welcome tell me if fashion matters?
I question not of love but ask
does love every grow old
I am a writer who cannot help but write
from early dawn to dusk I think and jot
each and every word is pure delight
I cannot state enough how eagerly I sought
those hours of tame that often gifted me
the rarest flowers of its sort, ... my lot
Sometimes I told my story on the moon for free
Sometimes I etched it on a star, such bless
its the joy of penning, who would disagree
That a rhyming poem without excess
can be a flow of sweet compose
there is no greater pass time, I confess
then letting a muse be your mentor of prose,
each time it lingers, I smell the tuberose.
The wind is blowing up gently
To float the hair of the evening primrose
It is going to dust the clouds off slightly
Making the sunset more brightly glow
The lights afar are flashing vigorously
That's the place of my warm home
The violin is singing pathos long ago
Flowing my deep missing into a stream
The boat in the sea is swaying
It is dreaming of a distant sail
The voyage must be the childhood tales
That will be thousands of miles
The night outside your window is getting stronger
It is turning out to be the incense ink
To gather a cluster of grass as a pen when I arrived
To write down the words at the bottom of my heart
Making a sweet poem accomplished here
Also by sprinkling with the fragrance of the tuberose
To spread it everywhere in front of your window
To tell you that is my love arriving home
Perfumed Garden
Twilight calls in soft floral amber lights,
Delicate in the scent of memory,
To fragile bowers of fragrant delights -
Saffron smiles wrapped in scented mystery.
Sinuous silk plumerias of myrrh
‘Twine satin fingertips ‘neath musky mantles
When gossamer hues of incense demur
Bluebellvines bloom in soft chimes with candles.
Tender scents of tuberose, sweet jasmine,
Float from this shy perfumed garden glen
Petals spread wide as lotus buds begin
To welcome gentle moonbeams touch again.
Trembling seeds arouse spice scents on bloom's skin
As in pure union harmony ascends.
7-14-22
Contest: It's All About the Three Q’s
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme: Nature
Rhymes check with www.rhymezone
Syllables checked with www.howmanysyllables
Quatorzain - 14 Lines, 10 Syllables per line
Bluebellvine is a flower in India.
TUBEROSE TUBEROSE
O Tuberose, Tuberose!
Wherefore art thou Tuberose?
Why not be named, Mother of Roses,
for within her creation is the iridescence of pearl,
which justifies her right to be considered, a pearl's mother,
so Mother of Roses, why can't it be?
For thou art a flower of all flowers to me,
and my favorite of all perfumes,
oh thou opulent essence of white gold!
Or if thou wilt not, be sworn by my love,
and be my wedded flower, the flower of my story,
the flower of my glory,
And I'll no longer love ALL fragrant white florae, only thee.
Best Romantic Poem 12/13/24
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Perfumed Romantic Bower
Twilight calls me with a soft amber light,
Into delicate scents of memory,
To a fragile bower of fragrant nights
Your saffron smile, a perfumed mystery.
Through gossamer hues of incense demur,
Fantasies flutter like silken moonbeams,
When we sip the honeyed nectar of myrrh,
And savor sweet spices in whispered dreams.
Scents of tuberose merge with star jasmine,
Draw us into this garden’s scented glen
Where the pulsing of bluebellvines entreat
Enchantment from your flute song sung again.
Love’s dulcet scent of ambrosia transcends
Our perfumed garden, harmony ascends.
I AM Walking Smelling the Fragrant Flowers
I WALK THROUGH GARDENS
FILLED WITH LILAC, JAZMINE ROSE
LAVEN HYACINTH
HONEYSUCK LILIES
SMELLS SO FRAGANT THE BLOSSUMS
MOCK-ORANGE FREESAS
MORN GLORY YLANGS
TUBEROSE HELOTROPE AND
LOB MARITIMAN
1/26/18
by James Edward Lee Sr.
4
there is no ending of words
is there anything that may be called
the end-word
let the words make questions
let the words give replies
let the words shout
let them battle among themselves
i can’t understand
why is there so much endeavour
to take me into that chaos
a plant of small white flower
is enough to make a garden itself
even-then
an assembly of
the rose the jasmine the tuberose is made
to increase the rule of the garden
after picking flowers from those plants
my wife puts them to the feet of the god
to worship him
she has a drinking-glass a plate
a hand-fan a throne
for her god
all are like tiny-toys
among them
the throne
is very important
till today
in many of our houses
there is a throne
but it is neither for accession of men
nor for making themselves king
i’ve already said
the throne is for our god
that means for our lying on
there may or may not be
even a broken cot
but for our family-god
to provide a throne
is a must
5
on that day
when once i had gone into the
myself-man
i saw
that the government and the opposition
both sides were gheraoing one another
in the same pace
they were reciprocally
quarrelling threatening rebuffing abusing
thus there was running
a fine piece of democracy there
it gave me enough pleasure
then i again came out
of that myself-man
in the outer-world
i saw
bypassing the stones and the hard
the roots of the trees
going deep down in the dark
in search of soft soil
and their branches are taking bent
towards the sun-light
6
of late
my intelligence seems somehow
to become slippery
there is so much pollution
in the myself-ism
it seems
even in collision with my shadow
some dragon-flies are killed every day
why do my eyes see so little
why do my tongue speaks so harsh words
to whose custody has gone
those rain-drops
those lemon-blossoms
there is the glittering of dew-drops
on the cob-web
the evening-worship
is sinking into the barking of dogs
as if the wings of the parrots
become van-rickshaw
as if the moon-light were
gradually retreating
in the enlightened city-life